Bathed in tepid water, <br />powder puffed in clouds of special talc: <br />this little lady is then pigtailed <br />with coloured ribbons <br />and dressed to kill. <br /> <br />Placed in her royal carriage <br />that bumps up and down <br />the pavements of High Streets, <br />she stares up at passing knees, <br />looks straight into the hungry, <br />wolfish eyes of dogs. <br /> <br />Today is shopping day; <br />a day for her to leave her mark <br />and make her the star <br />of some naughty cabaret. <br /> <br />In tempting stores, <br />her tiny hands will reach <br />for all that she can see; <br />never quite understanding <br />why, it doesn't all belong to her. <br /> <br />Deprived and unrewarded <br />by messy chocolate dreams, <br />she sucks at the empty air <br />and pitches an almighty scream; <br />that falls and grates <br />on the edgy nerves <br />of innocent shoppers. <br /> <br />The scream then turns <br />into a nagging mummbling whimper, <br />before that uncontrollable fit. <br /> <br />Her eyes now red <br />as a Bourneville wrapper. <br />Candlesticks below her nose, <br />bubble in a manic rage. <br />Her feet stamp the footrest <br />like a Spanish dancer….. <br /> <br />This world, can seem so unfair, <br />to a little girl... with ribbons in her hair. <br /> <br />Shopping with Little Angels<br /><br />Ian Bowen<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/shopping-with-an-angel/
